Rallying Point
by WitchwithKids
Summary: Major Coats is trapped in London during the Reaper invasion, with only his skill, wit, and memories of the woman who became Commander Shepard to keep him fighting against the invaders. F!Shep/Major Coats pairing. Rated M for language, war scenarios and adult relationships.
1. Big Ben

**Chapter One: Big Ben**

London, 2186

Three days. He had been stuck in that damned clock tower for three goddamned days, and the backup that Alliance command had promised to send still hadn't arrived. Nothing but husks, marauders and the occasional brave – and eventually dead – looter had been sighted through the cross-hairs of his rifle in that entire time. Dusk was settling over London, marked only by the fading of the red haze that bathed the city when the sun was up. He was low on ammunition, completely out of medical supplies, and the rations would be gone before the night was over. To add insult to injury, only two of his squad members were still alive, and all but seven of the two-dozen civilians they found had died. The sound of boots on the stairs broke his concentration, and the weary soldier turned his head away from the scope to acknowledge his comrade.

"I'm here to relieve you for a bit, Sir," said the younger man. PFC Reynolds. Caleb. The kid had been with the Marines for less than a year before the damned Reapers had hit Earth.

"I'm good. Go back and help with the civilians."

"No offense, Major, but you've been up here since midnight. The Lieutenant says you need a few winks, and we can't risk you nodding off at your post."

"The LT doesn't have the authority..."

"**Sara** wants to make sure the rest of us make it out of here alive," Caleb interrupted. "And if that means we're asking as your friends instead of following orders as your subordinates, then we'll risk ignoring protocol to make sure it happens."

He couldn't argue with that logic. The boy was a good shot, at least, and Major Coats stepped back from his position behind the stationary second hand of London's iconic Big Ben. He stayed at the top of the staircase until the private had settled into position, then made his way back down to the group of survivors they had picked up on their scouting mission. One old man, three women and three children, the youngest of which was a week old and suckling hungrily at his mother's breast.

_Born into war_, Coats thought, giving the small family a nod before finding an empty space along the wall to rest against. _With any luck, he'll live long enough to know peace, and be the luckiest of us all to not have it the other way around. _As he finally settled into a corner, resting his head against the wall, he noticed the oldest of the three children watching him, a timid smile on her lips. For the first time he actually studied the girl, covered in dust and nervously hanging onto her mother. She had red hair, he noticed, and Coats wondered as he nodded off how another red-head he had once known was faring somewhere out there in the galaxy, trying to find a way to save them all.

oxOxo

Arcturus Station, 2176

Staff Lieutenant Tristan Coats managed to crack open an eye as he finally heard his roommate return home from guard duty. The clock on his side-table flashed 04:16, which meant she had been at attention and on her feet for the better part of twenty hours, and his day would be starting in less than two. Their schedules had often been in conflict for the past five weeks, with several of the navy's best soldiers and operatives being pulled off assignment to help protect the Alliance Parliament after two leaders back on Earth were assassinated.

He smiled to himself in the dark as he heard her shuffling around in the kitchen, doing her best to be quiet. Normally, Jane wouldn't have woken him before the alarm, but Tristan hadn't slept well knowing she should have been home well before midnight. Her after-work routine never changed, no matter how late – or early – it happened to be. Food, shower, sleep. If he didn't drag his ass out of bed right that moment, he likely wouldn't see her again until that evening. And even that wasn't promised.

Tristan didn't bother putting on the light as he pulled up a pair of Alliance sweat pants that were always within reach. He knew Jane was used to him running around in nothing but his skivvies, but their new roommate kept hours just as strange as they did and it was probably awkward enough for the kid that they shared a co-ed apartment. Out of the string of soldiers that had come and gone from the flat in the two years he'd lived there, Shepard had been his favorite. She'd been with him for six months, usually gone on missions for most of it, but rent was always paid on time and they got along famously. But there was one bad habit of hers that Coats had been trying to break...

"Eggs, milk and bread," he suggested, slamming the freezer door shut as he caught her opening it to get the lasagne she'd been eyeballing all week. Jane turned and glared at him, but beneath the exhaustion and frustration, her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Throw one at me if it makes you feel better. I haven't showered yet. But you'll have to clean the kitchen," he dared in response.

"You're no fun," she teased, accepting defeat and opening the refrigerator door.

"I'm loads of fun," replied Tristan, leaning against the open door and peering down at her as she buried herself in the cooler to find the eggs. "There's just nothing fun to do on the station."

"Not true. Fucking and drinking are two of the biggest pastimes around here." As point of emphasis, she grabbed a beer from the shelf and waved it behind her before putting it back and emerging with the ingredients he had requested. "Not that either of us are queuing up a line of partners out at Tiny's, but there are plenty who do."

"An officer doesn't 'queue up partners,' Jane," Tristan joked, easing around her to grab a pan and placing it on the stove.

"You're full of shit. I can think of half a dozen women who would jump at the chance to warm your bed if you did so much as snap your fingers, but you seem to be perfectly content alone."

"The last time I tumbled into bed with a woman from the bar, I couldn't get rid of her for three months. So I decided after that I won't bring someone home unless I wouldn't mind keeping her around for a while." She seemed to be contemplating his reply, silent as she studied him with slitted eyelids. "And what about you?" he ventured, handing her a bowl and watching as she cracked the eggs into it. Tristan knew this conversation was foreign territory for them, even if it was Jane who opened that particular can of worms. He would have to keep it casual, even though his belly had mysteriously knotted itself in anticipation of her answer.

"Tris, you forget that I was raised in the military. I can smell a soldier's intentions from a mile away."

"Only the ones who stink."

Jane laughed and poked him in the chest before turning her attention back to whisking their eggs. And it was a good thing she had, for Tristan Coats had very nearly given away his hidden attraction for her. He had absolutely no intentions of acting on it. He was an officer and she was an N-7 trainee, and they were roommates. Maybe, just maybe, after one or the other of them moved out he might consider...

Reaching for the milk, he added a little to her mixture in the bowl. Normal. Casual. And failing miserably at keeping all thoughts of how much he would enjoy making breakfast with Jane every morning out of his head.

oxOxo

London, 2186

"Major! Friendlies inbound!"

Major Coats jolted awake, the sounds of gunfire shooting holes through the memories that had crept up while he slept. Reynolds stood before him, with the civilians packed and ready to run at a moment's notice. As he shook the last remnants of sleep from his head, Tristan could hear the whine of a shuttle near one of the entrances. Grabbing what little gear there was, he rushed them all out to where the extraction team was waiting, and made sure that everyone made it before boarding himself.

"Do we have anything new?" he asked the young pilot since the gunnery chief was busy watching for enemies.

"Not much from Alliance command, Sir, but we've been getting bits of news from galactic programming that manages to come through. A 'Battle-space' reporter managed to clinch a spot on the Normandy yesterday. As of this evening's broadcast, Commander Shepard is heading to Tuchanka."

"So we can get broadcasts from halfway across the galaxy but our superiors can't even check in," Coats grumbled, glancing at his weary crew and their charges. "That's about fifty kinds of fucked up."

"I agree, Sir. But right now, you're the highest ranking officer we've found."

"Do we have an FOB, Lieutenant?"

"Working on it, Sir."

"Good. Get me copies of those broadcasts and arrange to have any other soldier at your rank or higher meet with me an hour after we arrive."

Tristan nodded his dismissal and went to sit next to the little red-haired girl. She smiled when she saw him, and leaned against his arm since her mother's lap was full. She was quiet, contemplative. Much more calm than any child had the right to be in a world ravaged by ancient space machines.

"Major Coats?" she asked softly.

"Yes?"

"Are we going to win?"

Tristan closed his eyes for the briefest of moments while he contemplated all he had been through on the streets of London the past two weeks. The destruction. The death. The horror of the corrupted creatures the Reapers were throwing at them. But his thoughts cleared as he remembered the Lieutenant's words.

"We will," he confided to the girl. "Right now, out there in space, is a woman who is going to bring the best soldiers from all over the galaxy back here to Earth, and we're all going to kick the Reaper's buttocks."

* * *

****Disclaimer** The "Mass Effect" universe and characters are property of Bioware.**

**A/N: I started this fic months ago on the basis that it seemed as if Shepard and Coats already knew each other during their interactions towards the end of the game. So I took it, tweaked it a bit and ran with it. It's been slow going since I have other stories taking up most of my time, but I'll drop a chapter when the muse begins to pester me about this one.**

**This will be seen from Major Coats' point of view. His relationship and how it develops with Shepard will be shown through dreams and flashbacks as he struggles with the Reaper invasion in London.**


	2. Giant Alien Worms

**Chapter Two: Giant Alien Worms**

London, 2186

Looking at the map in front of him, Major Coats ran a hand across his face and let out a hefty sigh. He didn't need to see the shaded-out pile of digital rubble to know that the historic home of the British royal family had been obliterated in the Reapers' initial attack. He had seen the devastation himself from the top of the clock tower. But updating the map just made it seem so...final.

Coats had dismissed the other officers once they'd gone over the next phase of the resistance in London. Pockets of destruction littered the chart, with landmarks across the city that had stood for centuries now serving as bloodied graves of stone and steel. And yet there was still hope. While the numbers of the fallen were staggering, civilian recruits were pouring in to join the fight.

It had been less than 48 hours since arriving at the hastily set-up Operations Base in Leicester Square. He and the other officers had wasted little time in putting together their combined intel, and the first of their three recon teams had returned overnight with the news that St. Bartholemew's Hospital was not only still standing, but that one wing was being made ready for war triage. Two shuttles full of casualties had already been sent over along with a squad of healthy soldiers to ensure the hospital continued to operate without Reaper interference.

They had managed to section off the city into twenty quadrants, with their reconnaissance squads searching one at a time to find supplies, survivors and communication hubs in each. To avoid having the Reapers get wind of specific locations, each was designated with a number, combined with a letter specifying which region of the city it resided. It was heart-wrenching, dividing up London on a tactical map, but if they were going to have any chance of saving it, the deed needed to be done.

"Sir?" queried one of his lieutenants from the doorway. "You requested to be informed when the broadcast was about to come through?"

"Yes," Coats confirmed. "I did. I'll be down in the comm room shortly." He dismissed the soldier with a nod, then closed the charts he had been pouring over. The _Battle-space_ reporter had delivered the news of the events on Tuchanka that afternoon, promising that an interview with Commander Shepard would be on the schedule for the evening. Civilians and soldiers alike had perked up at the announcement, but the Major knew that his own interests were on a personal level.

By the time he reached the communications hub, nearly all of the base's inhabitants had gathered around to watch the interview. Even after sending twenty people to Bartholomew's, the crowd numbered at nearly three dozen, all waiting with baited breath to see the Savior of the Citadel. Coats knew the reporter would save her best piece for the end of the broadcast, but it gave them all a small bit of comfort to know that the rest of the galaxy was fighting the same war they were on Earth.

"Sweet Jesus, is that a thresher maw?" asked Private Reynolds, who had come to stand next to the Major. Tristan nodded, refusing to take his eyes off the footage from the battle on the Krogan home world. While everyone else watched Kalros take down the Reaper, his eyes were on the Commander. "She faced one of those once, didn't she?"

"She's faced a few of those," he corrected, taking note of the way Jane flinched, ever-so-slightly, when the giant alien worm rose from the sand towards the machine. "None that size, though."

"Really? I only heard about the one on Akuze. You know. The one that..."

"Wiped out her whole unit? Yes. The reporters had a field day with that one after she became a Spectre."

"I remember that. Was right before I...oh, hey! She's on," the private said, interrupting himself and nudging the Major in the arm.

But Tristan didn't pay attention to a single word that was said in the interview. His eyes were on Jane, reading the details in her that everyone else was sure to miss. Her hair had been cut to chin-length since he had last seen her, with choppy bangs falling into her eyes. Subtle signs of weariness and exhaustion showed on her face and in her posture, and if he were to guess, she had either just gotten up or sleep was the next item on her agenda. A bandage on her left arm peeked out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of her black Alliance fatigues, and Coats had to remind himself that she'd been through worse.

But it didn't stop the urge to wish himself on the Normandy, or for Jane to be in London.

oxOxo

Citadel, 2177

_Don't run. Don't run. Don't run._

Tristan Coats repeated the mantra in his head as he made his way from the Embassies to the Ward where he had been summoned. An Alliance officer in dress blues running through the Citadel was sure to cause a stir, something he didn't want to do when the humans were still on shaky ground to begin with. Had he been out of uniform, the Lieutenant wouldn't have had to worry. People were always in a rush in the galactic capitol. But the tight shoes and stiff jacket made him acutely aware that he was military brass, and everyone else saw it, too.

When he arrived at his destination, Tristan was shocked to see Captain Hackett himself waiting in the lobby. His heart raced in panic, expecting the worst, but the Fifth Fleet's executive officer didn't look mournful and the adrenaline wore off as quickly as it had risen. After saluting Hackett, he allowed the older man to take his hand and give it a firm shake in welcome.

"How is she?" he managed to ask, masking his anxiety.

"Awake, in pain, and pissed off," replied the Captain, leading him through the door to the hospital's military triage wing. "She's the only member of her unit that survived the mission, and the Navy approved her N7 status for it."

"Yeah, I can see why she'd be mad about that. Her entire unit? Bloody hell..."

"One of the Admirals wanted to promote her, too."

"That would've been worse."

"I agree. Which is why I advised against it. Not that I don't think she can handle it, but the inevitable backlash from the families added to the survivor's guilt she already has would be too much, even for her." Tristan nodded his agreement, expecting to fall into a comfortable silence. But Hackett wasn't quite done yet. "Nobody can get near her now that the sedatives have worn off. Her mother will be here in two days. Until then, she needs a friendly face, and you're it."

"Understood."

His mind was running a mile a minute with the information he had just received. Jane had been sent to Akuze two weeks prior and Tristan hadn't heard a peep about the mission since. Were they ambushed? Did the ship crash? What, exactly, were the extend of her injuries? He didn't need to wonder why the Captain had chosen him to come speak with her. They'd been roommates for well over a year now, and had even discussed finding a smaller place together since the third room seemed to have a revolving door of inhabitants that never quite fit into the groove that Coats and Shepard had carved. And he had hoped – oh, how Tristan had hoped! - to finally break though that last barrier and get her to go out on a real date with him when they both returned home.

As the two men approached the room, he saw a nervous-looking nurse standing next to a cart that seemed to be holding an array of covered food dishes. Distressed that Jane wasn't even letting anyone close enough to get a decent meal, Tristan tapped a series of buttons on his comm link and opened the channel to her private line.

"Jane?" he asked tentatively, not really expecting a response and already preparing what he would say next. Fortunately, he didn't have to follow through, and her voice in his ear took a weight from his shoulders.

"Hey Tris. Didn't take you long to find me." She sounded tired. Frighteningly so. It wasn't a tone he'd heard from her often.

"A little birdie came and perched on my shoulder," he teased lightly. "Said you needed some company. And dinner."

"Is the bird's name 'Hackett'?"

"No ma'am."

"You're a horrible liar, Tristan." Then, "Thank him for me, ok?"

"Will do," he replied, turning his comm off and turning towards the Captain. "I'm good to go. She says to thank you, Sir."

"I should be thanking you," responded Hackett warmly, giving Tristan a quick salute in dismissal. Within moments, Tristan found himself alone outside Jane's door with her dinner cart, which he promptly wheeled into the room. And then stood rock still with his heart in his throat as he took in the sight of her.

Nearly all of the left side of her body was covered in bandages. Her face was bruised and her once-long hair was haphazardly chopped in varying lengths. Jane was pale and thin, her eyes sunken and unable to mask the pain and weariness he saw there. Abandoning her meal, Tristan made his way towards her, taking her good hand between his own as he sat next to her on the bed.

The story she told him was nearly unbelievable, but once Jane started, she couldn't stop. She explained about landing with her unit at an abandoned facility, a thresher maw attacking them all with a ferocity she'd never prepared for. Four broken ribs, a shattered kneecap, concussion and a dislocated shoulder from when the beast flipped the Mako she had been riding in. Acid eating through her armor faster than she could get it off. Hearing the cries of her squad-mates as they were crushed, burned or melted and in too poor of shape herself to help them.

As she talked, Tristan had managed to take off his jacket and roll up his sleeves. He wheeled the cart towards her, encouraging her to at least drink the juice or water that had been brought to her when she paused for breath. He didn't want Jane out of his sight, he decided. At least, not until he was sure she was stable enough to let the doctors back in.

Eventually the need to get the gruesome memories out of her head ran its course and she began to pick at the food, much to his relief. He caught her looking hesitantly at the new set of ID tags on the side table, and decided to pick them up.

_Systems Alliance_

_N7_

_ENS Shepard, J._

_11-4-2154_

_AB-_

He heard the light clank as her old tags were dropped on the table, and Tristan looked up to see tears pooled in Jane's eyes. Carefully taking the chain and slipping it over her head, he couldn't resist running his hands to the back of her head to tangle his fingers in her hair.

"You earned this, Jane," he said quietly, daring to lean his head in closer to hers. "Maybe you don't think you _deserve_ it yet, but you've paid the price tenfold to wear the N7."

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again as she choked on a sob. With her uninjured hand, Jane grabbed the front of Tristan's shirt and pulled herself against his chest. She cried without a sound, taking deep heavy breaths and refusing to let go of him. Minutes, maybe an hour passed as he held her. Once the grief succumbed to exhaustion, Tristan gently set Jane back in bed, pressed his lips to her forehead, and rang for the nurse.

**Disclaimer: I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox.**

**A/N: Thanks for the review/follows/favorites! You guys are the best. Hopefully it won't be as long until the next chapter is up, but I'll warn you now it will likely have some NSFW bits.**


	3. Taco Tuesday

_****NSFW****_

**Chapter Three: Taco Tuesday**

London, 2186

It didn't seem possible. The Citadel. Everyone had heard the news as it trickled in over the hours that Cerberus had occupied, and then lost it. It was hard to stay focused on what was happening in their own tiny corner of the universe with the fate of the Galactic Council at stake. But focus he did, and Major Coats managed to make additions to the map of London as it spread out before him.

Three comm towers had been repaired and five new outposts had been established in the week since arriving at Leicester Square, and he had a squad on its way to St. Mary's in hopes of securing a second medical station. Casualties were still frighteningly high, and the Reapers kept coming in force. He had been sending messages to high command, but still had no word...

"Sir, we've heard from Admiral Anderson."

It was the best news the Major had heard in weeks. With a sigh of relief, he dismissed the soldier who had interrupted his musings and made his way to the newly established vid-comm room. The communications officer snapped a quick salute, then beat a hasty retreat, leaving Coats alone with the flashing beacon of hope. With a quick press of his security code, the weary Admiral blinked into view.

"At ease, Major," Anderson drawled as soon as the subordinate officer rose his hand to salute. "Damn, it's good to see you alive."

"Likewise, Sir. Are you still planet-side?"

"I am. Making my way across North America. How is London holding up?"

"Barely. We're taking it one hour at a time. There's...not much of it left, and the enemy is doing it's best to finish the job, but we're organizing resources and giving them hell every step of the way."

"They're still there in force?" Anderson's face fell, contemplating what that might mean in the grand scheme of things. "Something isn't right. Even in Vancouver they pulled most of their troops once they knew most of us were dead or on the run. But you said you're pooling resources. That's good. I'll do what I can to send more troops your way, and pass on to Admiral Hackett and Commander Shepard that London's where we may need to be heading once our alliances are solid." Coats tried to school his expression at the Admiral's mention of Jane, but something must have leaked through, for Anderson quirked an eyebrow and crossed his arms paternally.

"We've been getting the vids," the Major confessed. "It helps with morale. Soldiers. Civilians. They all look up to her. God knows she's the only one who can pull off those alliances for us."

"But?"

"No 'but,' Sir."

"Bullshit, Coats. You and Shepard have a history. I know that. Hackett knows it, too. And she'd be damn proud of what you're doing." Anderson's face softened for a brief moment before adding, "Keep doing it. Stay alive and keep fighting. Make sure there's a home for her to come back to."

oxOxo

Arcturus Station, 2177

Tristan hated open gallery day. The recruits were cockier and they took unnecessary risks in the combat simulator. He was grateful it was only once per week, and most times his schedule managed to have him on a different training rotation, but it always grated on his nerves to have an audience when his soldiers needed to be giving their attention to the battlefield. The tension was doubled knowing that Jane was up there, probably wishing she could join them since she was technically still on light duty while her knee continued to heal.

"Jones, on your left!" he yelled, rolling as an artificial shock-wave drove through their line. His unit would be heading out to the Terminus System in a few weeks. He needed them ready to face any enemy, including rogue Asari who joined up with the dozens of pirate gangs in that sector. And of course, thinking of the biotic humanoids drove his line of thought straight back to Jane and her own unique talents.

_Two minutes. I need to make it through two more minutes and then we can go home. _As an afterthought, it occurred to him that "we" meant Jane and himself, not the recruits he was training. himself to focus, Coats exhaled heavily then popped out of cover with his side-arm at the ready. Two short bursts. Two "pirates" down. Frustration was one hell of a motivator.

Ten minutes later, he walked out of the simulator's ready room, armor put away to be cleaned and fatigues hastily thrown on while the men and women under his command held back to compare notes on the day's activities. As expected, Jane was waiting for him.

"Remind me not to piss you off," she teased, and Tristan chuckled as he waited for her to stand. It was less of a struggle for her than it had been even a few days before. One week of regular exercise was doing wonders in undoing the physical misery she had gone through in the month beforehand. He expected she'd be taking a turn on the combat sim within a fortnight.

"Noted. What's for dinner?" he asked as they made their way to the elevator. "I'm famished."

"Taco Tuesday. Meat's thawed and veggies are chopped. I can finish fixing it up while you shower."

"That's terribly domestic of you."

Jane giggled at his choice of words. She was anything but a happy housewife, and they both knew it. "It's a nice change of pace."

"Keeps you busy when you can't sleep, you mean," Tristan corrected, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. Nightmares of Akuze kept her awake most nights, and it was starting to show on her face. Jane may have been wearing a smile for him, but he saw the telltale signs of insomnia. "Put a kettle on, too. I'll brew some of that tea you refuse to drink."

"Tea is boring."

"It will help you relax so you can sleep."

Jane opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it closed and looked at the floor when they entered the already-crowded elevator. There had been the briefest twinkle of mischief in her eyes, something he hadn't seen since she'd come back from the mission that had decimated her entire unit, but it had been snuffed out as soon as Jane realized they could be overheard. He nudged her gently, and when she looked up, Tristan poured the unspoken concern into his expression.

For a moment, Jane stared at him blankly as she read the openness on his face that he so rarely dared to show. And then, her eyes softened, her lips played at the barest ghost of a smile, and he felt her fingers thread through his own to give his hand an unexpected squeeze. Tristan's eyes narrowed in understanding, and his heart pounded in his chest as he tightened his grip.

He was scarcely aware of returning to the apartment, stunned as he was at her bold move in the elevator. True to her words, Jane had shooed him into the shower, and dinner was waiting when he emerged. They ate in silence, studying one another from across the table while the pot of tea brewed on the stove. How had he not seen it? How had it escaped him that she had been harboring her own suppressed attraction? Tristan wanted to kick himself. He'd been so certain that she wouldn't be interested...

She didn't ask why he never said anything. He didn't ask how she knew. But for long moments after the meal was over and they sat together on the couch with their drinks, Tristan contemplated what exactly his next step would have to be. When he came to the inevitable conclusion, he took their mugs and set them on the coffee table. Before Jane could react, he had cradled her head between his hands and pressed his lips against her own.

Tristan had imagined what it would be like a thousand times. A desperate scramble for dominance that led to a quick and heated tangle with the bedsheets. A quick peck on the doorstep as one of them left for work. A slow, sensual seduction that took hours of lovemaking to bring to climax. This was none of them. It was different. Unexpected.

Damn near perfect.

Jane melted into him, relief and exhaustion coming out in a soft sigh as he deepened the kiss just enough to let her know he was serious with his intentions towards her. She was clearly too drained of energy to be able to reciprocate any further amorous attentions, but Tristan knew he could put his own desires at bay long enough to give her the release she truly needed.

"Jane, do you trust me?" he asked, the question coming out more softly than he had intended. When she nodded, he skimmed a finger around the rim of her ear and kissed her gently. "Then come to bed."

He didn't need to show her where the room was, but he led her to it anyhow. Tristan stopped her at the foot of the bed, easing behind her and kissing the back of her neck. Gently, he unfastened her pants, eased them slowly past her hips where they sank in a puddle of fabric at her feet. As Jane stepped out of them, he worked on slipping her shirt over her head, adding it to the pile of clothes. Next were her undergarments, and Tristan had to fight back the urge to indulge.

This wasn't for him. Satisfying his own needs would only serve to lower himself to the worst kind of man. She was in no shape to match him, and he refused to take advantage of it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity battling his own desire, Tristan encouraged Jane onto the bed, lying belly down as he leaned on his elbow next to her.

Hesitantly, he traced her ear again, but didn't remove his hand. He skimmed his fingers across her jaw, along the side of her neck, down her arm to the wrist and back to the shoulder. Never once did he apply anything stronger than the feather-light touch of his fingertips. Across her shoulders, tracing invisible and random patterns across the scars. Dancing along her back, between ribs and spine as her skin rippled from muscles that were unclenching from his touch alone.

He teased the dimples above her buttocks, circling them before tracing the lines of her hipbone and continuing his lover's touch down her thighs. Tristan led his hand across the back of her legs, marveling at the soft skin behind her knees. Gentle. Always gentle. Light. Meant to relax. And to arouse.

Stealing a quick glance at her face, he could see that while Jane had certainly calmed during his attentions, there was a twinkle of desire in her heavily lidded eyes. Sparing a lopsided grin, he skimmed the inside of her thigh as her expression melted. Gently, slowly, he pulled at her hip to roll her over, scooting backwards to accommodate her.

Tristan worked her front in the same way he had her back. It was incredibly sexy, watching her react as he traced the lines of her ribs, up the valley between her breasts, then across her shoulders and jaw. And still Jane continued to breathe evenly, even though ripples of biotic energy flared against her skin when Tristan touched a particularly sensitive area. Across the swell of one breast, circling the nipple of the other. It took every ounce of self control he possessed to not replace his fingers with his mouth, but her reaction was more than he had expected.

Her breath hitched ever-so-slightly, and he knew she was almost ready. Just one more trail to her inner thighs, and back to her neck as he leaned up to watch her reaction. Jane's lips parted as he returned to the tip of her nipple, and like a flash he took his other hand and did the same to the nub of her sex.

Tristan couldn't stop himself from plunging a finger into her as the first wave of her orgasm rolled across her in blue energy. She was tight, wet, and he could feel her clench his digit as a guttural scream ripped from her lips. Her inner walls rippled endlessly, and she rose her hips the tiniest bit to sheathe his finger inside of her.

Every muscle in Jane's body went limp after her climax had run its course. He had removed his hands from her body, leaning them on both sides of her head to kiss her gently as she returned from whatever cloud he had sent her to.

Wearily, she managed to raise an arm to touch his face. Jane was happy. Sated. And completely relaxed. Taking her hand and setting it down, Tristan pressed his lips to her temple and settled in beside her. Within moments, they were both fast asleep.

* * *

****Disclaimer** Bioware's baby. Not mine. **

**Thanks to all of you for the comments/faves/follows on this story. I'm still chipping away one chapter at a time. I never intended for this to be very long, maybe 6-8 chapters total by the end, but I'm happy that you all are enjoying it. I still have a ways to go on my other active stories though, and have started a new Mass Effect fic that I will begin posting once this one is complete. :-)**


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